


Whatever

by Magniloquence



Category: Star vs. The Forces Of Evil
Genre: College AU, F/F, Getting Together, M/M, Medium Burn, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Not Quite a Slow Burn, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-05 01:29:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12783999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magniloquence/pseuds/Magniloquence
Summary: Marco has more important shit to worry about than Star’s stupid high school ex-boyfriend. He’s gotta stay on the dean’s list, he’s in the honor’s program, for god’s sake. He’s got a test on wormholes on Friday he hasn’t studied for, a presentation on cosmic inflation tomorrow, he hasn’t done laundry in like a month, he needs to eat something that isn’t ramen or a Monster energy drink, and—and one drunken bathroom fumble does not mean anything. It’s not something he can afford to waste time on! It definitely doesn’t indicate that he likes Tom or whatever.It’s all just—whatever.---College AU in which Marco is Stressed™, Star is conflicted, Pony Head just wants to turn up, Kelly doesn’t get what all the fuss is about, Janna eats carrot cake, and Jackie takes infrequent naps.Oh, and Tom is just constantly confused.





	1. En la peda

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic ever. Please be kind and enjoy!

Marco doesn’t usually like college parties. Contrary to popular belief (Pony Head) he doesn’t hate them either, he just doesn’t have an awesome time at these kinds of parties, college parties. He likes dancing, and drinking even (“In reasonable amounts, Star! I actually like my liver!), and he’d rather do that than stand around and get wasted with a bunch of his peers by playing incredibly dangerous drinking games. Last he saw Star he was playing one that is literally called Circle of Death. What exactly about alcohol poisoning is fun? “Moderation and booty shaking, not discomposure and grave-making,” that’s Marco’s saying.

 

Okay, maybe he hates college parties a little. Just not this one, this one is fun because he’s actually, for once, getting some action.

Warm hands, under his shirt, on his side and then on his abdomen, soft, warm, distracting. It feels nice, it feels _so_ nice, and another hand in his hair, tilting his head against that tantalizing goddamn mouth.

 

 _God_. All of this feels so incredibly, wonderfully nice.

 

His eyes are closed, and he’s just enjoying the feeling of another body pressed against his own. There’s music blaring even through the closed door, but he’s more focused on trying not to breathe too hard, not to let out any embarrassing sounds or something. It’s been a couple of years since he’s done anything with anyone, since he’s even kissed anyone like this; he doesn’t want to seem overeager, but he is, goddamn it, and Marco just wants to keep feeling nice for a little while longer.

 

His back is starting to hurt from the strain of being bent back over the bathroom counter, and he’s pretty sure they’ve knocked over at least half of the contents that’d been on the counter in the first place. To be fair, they could’ve just as easily been knocked over by any other drunk guest that had used the bathroom. He’s sitting on some small bottle of some sort and distantly he hopes that he isn’t sitting on a tube of toothpaste… If it opened and it got on his pants that’d be embarrassing. Wait. What would be embarrassing?

 

The soft, warm mouth that had been pressed against him is saying words now, against his mouth. He doesn’t know what, or why, and more importantly he’d like to get back to kissing, but when he doesn’t say anything back the person he’s kissing pulls back. What the hell?

 

“—good, Marco?”

 

Marco’s eyes are still closed. He opens them groggily, he doesn’t understand why he’s got to open his eyes and answer some stupid question. He just wants to get back to kissing. He manages a very eloquent, “Uh-wha?”

 

“I said, ‘Are you good, Marco?’ You kinda zoned out there for a second.”

 

Marco blinks slowly, once, twice, and then scrutinizes the face before him. It’s Tom’s face. It’s Tom.

 

“Ohhhhh _shit._ ”

“You okay?”

“Ohhhhhh _shit_. You’re _Tom_.”

“Uh. Yeah?”

“And I’m Marco!”

“Yes? I know your name, Marco.”

“Oh. Shit, shit, shit!”

 

How in the hell—why in the hell? _Tom?!_ Why is he making out with Tom?! Tom’s a Big No-No, Because Tom’s a Douche. What the _hell_ , Marco? In all of his twenty years he’s never sobered up so fast in his life. Oh, God. He can’t breathe. He feels sick. Like, actually sick. Wait. That might be the screwdrivers coming back up. Oh, he shouldn’t have tried to go toe-to-toe with Pony Head. She’s practically an alcoholic. It’s legitimately concerning. He once saw here have vodka with her pancakes at breakfast.

 

“Marco, are you okay? Do you feel sick? Shit. I’m sorry. Um.” Tom, to his credit, isn’t a total douche apparently, because he moves back, giving Marco space, to breathe, and collect himself, and…reflect on his poor life choices.

 

“Ugh. I really don’t feel so good,” Marco groans, clutching his stomach and mouth simultaneously. His body is betraying him for being a treacherous, light-weight, shitty-ex-boyfriend-of-your-best-friend-kisser, and for the, like, six screw-drivers.

 

“Here, let me help.” Tom is surprisingly careful with him as he helps him take a couple of steps toward the toilet, and even more so when he helps him bend over and wretch his guts out. He has no idea how long he pukes for, but by the time he’s done his face is streamed with tears, his throat burns, and he still feels awful. He barely registers when he slumps down on the floor, with some help from Tom.

 

He wonders if he looks even worse than he feels, because Tom is looking at him with both pity and a bit of disgust as he says, “Oh, man. You’re really not doing so hot. Hang on, wait right here.”

Tom leaves to go…do something. Marco doesn’t know what. He’s tired. He wants to go to bed. Why did he come to this stupid party? Why did he have so many goblin dogs for lunch? Why’s he on the floor in the bathroom? _Where’s_ _Star_?

 

His thoughts are interrupted as the door is opened and in step Tom and Star, trailed by Pony Head and Kelly. He catches the tail end of what Tom’s saying to Star, “—and yeah, I think you should take him home. I can call you an Uber if you want?”

 

Ignoring Tom, Star quickly kneels down in front of him, worry clearly etched on her face, “Oh, Marco! You look _terrible_! I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have instigated!” Wrapping her arms around his torso, effectively burying his face in her chest, she begins to rub his back slowly, talking rapidly all the while, “I practically forced you to keep up with me and Pony Head! I’m so sorry!”

 

Still cradling him, he feels Star turn to look at Tom, but he doesn’t bother to lift his head from where it is. He idly thinks about how his face is in Star’s cleavage, but decides it isn’t important.

 

“Thank you, Tom. I’d appreciate that, I’ll get him home,” Star says, then pauses, thinking, “And, can you guys maybe all go back to the party and cover for us? I don’t want Marco to be embarrassed. You know he’s kinda weird about these things.”

 

“Yeah. Okay. You get Turdina home, Me, Kels, and Tom will keep it cool and say he had to suddenly go do astrology homework!”

“I think he’s studying astronomy, actually.”

“Whatever! He’s drunk! I’m drunk! You’re Kelly. Les’go!” Pony Head starts to lead Kelly away, signaling for Tom to follow, but Tom stops just short of the door, looking over his shoulder he says, “Uh. I hope you feel better, Marco,” before trailing after the two girls.

 

Marco, still drunk, and sore, and _tired—why are we still here Star?_ Nudges Star, the heart-shaped pendant on her necklaced digging into his forehead, mumbles “Uhwanna ‘guh home.” Everything is a blur, and he’s only distantly aware of Star picking him up, her helping him walk out of the bathroom, and out of the apartment, out into the street, and into a car, before promptly passing out.

 

He wakes up with a _bitch_ of a hangover, curses the day alcohol was invented, reads a couple of articles on the dangers of binge drinking while laying in bed, to remind himself (again) that he’s always right. He wants to lay in bed forever and never face the light of day (Noon? What time is it?), but hunger wins out and he ventures into the kitchen to procure toast and some aspirin. When he comes back his phone is flashing with a text notification, so he unlocks it and checks. It’s a brief text, two lines.

 

_‘Hope ur feeling better_

_Last night was fun’_

Well fuck.


	2. En los commons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Thanks so much to everyone who took the time to comment or leave kudos on the first chapter, and to all of the other readers as well! I really appreciate it!
> 
> Sorry this chapter is so short, next one will be longer!
> 
> Enjoy!

A couple of days after the party, he gets caught moping in the living room, laying around with his textbooks and notebooks and study guides sprawled all over the vicinity. It was just him and Pony Head at the apartment, and he hadn’t expected her to come over and ask what was up.

 

“Marco. Why are you all sad and junk?” She demands.

 

“I’m not sad. I’m dejected. I’m a dejected, regretful imbecile. Leave me alone.”

 

“Oh, no way, Turdina. You know I don’t like it when you’re sad about stupid shit. Turn around and look at me.” Marco does, and he notices that she’s not made up as per usual. She’s in a bright turquoise bath robe, with her pink box braids wrapped into a huge bun on her head, even without makeup her dark skin was still glowing, probably freshly moisturized. He can smell coconut oil and it’s _heavenly_.

 

Marco loves, loves, _loves_ sharing an apartment with three women who have more skin and beauty products than anyone will ever conceivably need. He lives for that shit.

 

“I’m gonna do my nails. And you’re going to tell me why you’re being dumb.”

 

“Nuh-uh. Nope.”

 

“Nah. Too late! I’m already up in your business. You have to tell Aunty Lilacia all about your problems.”

 

They sit on the floor, in front of the large hot pink couch that Star somehow talked them into keeping, or more like Pony Head sits and drags Marco down with her. That couch is garish and Pony Head kind of hates it, and since it’s velvet no one can even eat out, but it really pulls together all of the other bright colors in the living room. With the couch, and some other neon bits, it looks like Lisa Frank became an interior decorator, but Marco secretly likes it.

 

Marco begins explaining while she examines a variety of different nail polishes, ready to start on the weekly task of maintaining her _gorgeous_ nails. Marco had let her practice on him back when she’d first started doing hers herself, and he had to admit that he’d never felt more like a bad bitch than with two-and-a-half inch acrylic bright red nails. Bad Bitch Marco. That’d been a confidence boost.

 

 “Um-hmm. Um-hmm.” She nods once Marco has finished explaining his drunken rendezvous.

 

“I think Star will understand, actually,” She pauses to consider her thoughts, “She’s like, super understanding when it comes to this kind of stuff. And I am too, see how nice and understanding I’m being? I’m like the best.” She gestures to herself with her half-done hand.

 

“It’s not like you were trying to steal her ex-man. You were just drunk and handsy.” She emphasizes handsy by groping the air in front of her suggestively, winking at him just to make him uncomfortable.

 

“I think you’re just overthinking things because it’s your first time making out with someone while you were drunk at a party. That’s like the closest to a hookup you’ve ever gotten, right? I do it all the time so it’s like no biggie to me.” She pauses for effect, and Marco laughs at her haughty expression.

 

“But, yeah, you don’t so…” She trails off, looking at Marco imploringly.

 

“The question is why make out with Tom if you can’t stand him so much?”

 

Marco groans, “I don’t know! He was there! I was there. It’s stupid. I feel stupid. I don’t know why I’m being so weird about it.”

 

“Oh, I think deep down you know, and the rest of you just hasn’t caught up yet, Turdina.”

 

“I really don’t. It was just a stupid spontaneous decision, and now things are going to be awkward for me and Star, and awkward for me and Tom.”

 

“Marco. Star isn’t going to care. They dated four years ago for like five seconds. She and Tom are reconnecting but that’s _all_. You’re Marco-ing this too much.” She rolls her eyes extra hard as she says, “Marco-ing.”

 

“Please don’t use my name as a verb.”

 

“But you are totally Marco-ing, Marco. You’re thinking about something that isn’t that big of a deal and spiraling. You’re thinking in circles. You’re, like, on the teacups at Disney World, Turdina. You practically live there.”

 

“I live at Disney World?” Marco asks jokingly.

 

“No, you ingrate! You live in your own thoughts, and you go over them over and over when there’s nothing to go over. Like, God, just admit you had a fun time with Tom and stop feeling bad about it. Sure, he’s pretentious as _hell_ , and he’s a huge douchebag sometimes, but he’s pretty cute. You and Star have good taste in white boys.” She finally manages to finish peeling off her last nail as her brief rant finishes.

 

“Excuse you, I have excellent taste in all men and women of all backgrounds.” Marco retorts. It’s a flat out lie. He went out with Alfonso senior year of high school and it was a weird and uncomfortable experience for everyone involved.

 

“What the fuck _ever_ , Marco. Just. Pull your head out of your ass. If this is how you’re going every time you kiss a boy while you’re drunk we’re going to have problems.”

 

Pony Head is probably right, he knows, but if he really did have a good time at the party with Tom, then what does _that_ mean? And, if he maybe kind of wants to do it again, what does _that_ mean? And, if Star is cool with it, which she probably will be because she’s Star and unlike Marco she’s dated like a dozen people, (because she’s beautiful and amazing and loving and friendly, and really how did Marco get this other-worldly being to become his best friend?) then what does he _do_ and what does he _want_ to do?

 

Marco only groans in response.

 

\--

 

It’s been a week since and Marco has managed to avoid Tom. Campus is huge, so it’s not like it’s hard. He and Tom usually run into each other in passing about once a day, so he’s been taking routes he doesn’t usually take to class, and he’s been hiding in hallways, bathrooms, and even one unfortunate classroom of freshmen taking Spanish I. At least when he stopped in there he was able to help one of the students correct her homework before the TA for the course politely told him to get the hell out of his classroom.

 

Rude. He was just helping her conjugate.

 

He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he just barely notices a mop of pink hair over the throng of people that’s collected in front of the commons, what’s worse is that it—oh _shit—_ Tom is heading toward him! He turns quickly, almost running into some poor stranger, and bolts in the opposite direction. It’s not until he’s in the relative safety of the commons that he chances a glance back.

 

Oh. It wasn’t Tom. Just someone else with pink hair then. Phew.

 

His relief is cut short when he turns around without looking and immediately slams into someone, the force knocking him back on his skinny ass. “Marco!”

 

            He looks up from where he’s fallen. It’s Tom. Of course it’s Tom.

 

God _damn_ it. Stupid distracting hipsters, with their stupid distracting pastel hair colors. Marco could’ve avoided this if not for the Tom-double. He wasn’t even going to come into the damn commons. Is it some kind of major requirement to have weird hair in the art department? This is garbage.

 

Tom is still staring at him waiting for a response. He’s got a big smile on his face, and he looks genuinely excited to be talking to Marco, but his smile is rapidly waning in the absence of a response.

 

“Uh. Hey, Tom,” he says finally. He can keep this brief, he can say hello and leave, and things will _not_ be awkward and miserable.

 

“So, that party last week was pretty good, right?”

 

Or not. Why is Tom bringing this up? They were drunk. They made out. It’s not a big deal, right? Or he could just be talking about the party in general? He was pretty drunk too, maybe he doesn’t even remember the bathroom rendezvous. He’s just gonna smooth past it.

 

“Uh, yeah, it was a great party. I had fun.”

 

“Oh? I had a lot of fun too, Marco. Maybe we could have _fun_ again sometime or whatever.” Tom is still smiling, but the red dusting his tan cheeks gives away his nervousness. Marco has absolutely no fucking idea what to make of that, because the only thing that comes to mind is the possibility that maybe, just maybe, Tom is somehow flirting with him, and there’s no way in hell that’s the case.

 

“Uhhhh. Fun? Sounds fun?”

 

“Great! I’ll text you later.” Tom’s sauntering away before Marco can fully register what happened.

 

He walks to class deep in thought, and on auto-pilot he takes out his notebook and a pen. The professor begins to drone on, but he’s not listening, for once, too busy analyzing their brief interaction to try and pinpoint where he’s misunderstood, because Tom flirting with him, propositioning him, there _must_ be a misunderstanding.

 

Unless it somehow wasn’t a misunderstanding, in which case he has to finally fess up and tell Star what happened.

 

Well, fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to explain what I'm aiming for characterization-wise: 
> 
> I feel like without Star crashing into his life during his first year of high school Marco would have probably stayed the safe kid throughout his adolescence, because their crazy adventures really gave him the means to explore side of himself that he wasn't aware he possessed. Likewise, without the pressures of having to rule Mewni, and all the baggage that comes along with it, I feel like Star would be a lot more carefree, and her fun-seeking spirit would probably be the cornerstone of her character. Basically, I wanted to write Party Princess Star who can drink anyone under the table and Marco as her unwilling sidekick, jaja. Wait 'till y'all see how I interpreted older Tom. Please don't judge me.
> 
> Please comment! Critique! Let me know if these characterizations are coming through yet! Y'all are great!


	3. En la cocina

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all! Sorry for the super belated update. I got super busy with life and life things. Should update again soon! Enjoy!

Marco has been feeling oddly grateful that his best friend has been working herself to the bone taking extra classes. It means that sometimes none of them will see Star for a good couple of days at a time, and that the only way they know she hasn’t died from Monster-and-Adderall-induced cardiac arrest are the memes she sporadically sends out to let everyone know she’s okay. Well, they’re not exactly memes, but it had taken Marco a while to figure out that when Star sends a motivational photo of a kitten stuck on a tree branch with the caption “Hang in there!” it’s because she’s being genuine. Star is fucking weird.

Moreover, in this case, Star’s schedule has prevented (read: enabled) Marco to avoid talking with her about Tom for the last three days. In those three days he’s gotten one text from Tom saying “hi” that Marco didn’t see in time and has been debating responding to since. He’s probably typed up a dozen responses only to delete them, and at this point he’s considering deleting the message all together because it’s causing him such an undue amount of stress. Okay, so. He’s a little neurotic, he’s making peace with it.

However, he knew that his luck would have to run out sometime. He supposes that a Thursday morning is as good a time as any to tell Star, “Hey, Star! I know you’re dealing with a lot of stress from your course load, and that things are complicated for you right now in terms of determining your future, but I just wanted you to know that I reallykindofsortof want to jump your ex-boyfriend and I could use some advice!” Is he a bad friend for this? He’s not a bad friend for this, Pony Head said so.

Star’s sitting at the kitchen table when he approaches her. Her face is turned away from Marco. She’s slumped over, cradling her head in her left arm and shoulder, her long blonde hair is a mess. Half of it seems to have somehow fallen out of a bun that she had it in. There’s grass in some of it. She’s wearing pajama pants, a crop top, and a blazer, so she probably hasn’t done laundry for even longer than Marco has. She doesn’t smell bad, but that likely has less to do with practicing good hygiene and more to do with strong artificial smell of cotton candy body spray that seems to follow Star around lately.

Her right arm is outstretched and she’s holding three gel pens of different colors. As a proud millennial, Marco detests taking handwritten notes, yet Star prefers writing everything out by hand. She color-codes, or tries to at least. She’s got several notebooks strewn around her, and she’s writing in one. For a second Marco wonders what she’s managing to write down without even looking at the paper, upon closer inspection he can see that she’s drawing nonsensical spirals and squiggles. Actually, her eyes might be shut. Huh.

He moves cautiously, he doesn’t want to startle her is she’s awake, or wake her if she’s asleep. When he pulls out the chair on her right it squeaks loudly and she bolts upright, she yells, “AND THAT’S WHY WE SHOULDN’T CELEBRATE COLUMBUS DAY! FUCK COLUMBUS!”

She turns to look at Marco, blinks one eye and then the other. She looks exhausted. Her eye bags have bags.

“…Um. Yeah. Fuck that guy.” Marco says wearily. He’s used to Star’s inability to express volume control by now, but when she bolts awake like that and yells it still catches him off guard.

“He was a huge asshole, Marco! And a drunkard! This is why we need multicurtural education in our schools, real multicultural education not this tokenizing bullshit!” Star keeps jabbing the notebook in front of her, as if to illustrate her point with her multicolored squiggles. She looks deranged.

“Star, when was the last time you—”

“—and what the hell is with the white savior narrative that we’re taught?! Do you think we would be applauding Columbus if he had been black?! Hell no! And that’s racist, Marco!” She’s carding her hands through her hair now, and her fingers keep getting stuck, but she keeps trying anyway. Oh God.

“You need to calm down! I have no idea what the hell you’re going on about—”

“—WAIT. Am…am _I_ a white savior, Marco? Do I try to impose my own limited understandings of white imperialism in the spaces that I inhabit without considering the perspectives of the people—”

“—Star!! Calm the fuck down!” Marco had dealt with sleep-deprived, socially-conscious Star many a time, but he is not in the mood to watch Star spiral into a monologue this early in the goddamn morning.

To his relief Star seems to calm down immediately, she practically deflates, slumps down into her seat with her head thrown back and groans loudly, “I’m sorry, Marco. It’s just…I don’t know. One of the teachers at the elementary school I volunteer at is like three hundred years old, and she’s teaching the kids that Columbus is some great guy and I got so mad that I ended up arguing with her, and then she got mad at me. So I came home and started looking for articles about how he’s awful so that I can rub them in her stupid, dumb, ancient face.” She looks so sad, small, and tired as she finishes explaining that Marco can’t help but want to hug her, maybe squish her face a little, definitely comb her hair.

He reaches over and envelops her in a side hug, “It’s cool, Star. I know you get really passionate.”

They sit in silence for a while just enjoying the familial contact from one another. When Star pulls back she looks a little less sad and exhausted.

“I haven’t seen you in a few days. How have you been?” She asks.

Marco considers taking the plunge and telling Star what’s been on his mind, but he is pretty concerned about Star and curious about what she’s been doing, so he says, “I’ve been okay. You catch me up first.”

Star tells him about the History of Colonization course that she’s been taking, and about the presentation that she had yesterday for her women’s studies course, and about the canned food drive that she’s helped organize, and about one of her favorite kids that she works with at the elementary school.

“Katrina’s just the cutest, and smartest, little thing! I love her so, so much. She made me this card that says that I’m the “Best Teacher Ever” and she drew us holding hands! She even labeled it “Star and Katrina” it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. And, her dad, Yvgeny, he calls her his little tadpole!”

Star’s enthusiasm is infectious, and Marco finds himself smiling as he says, “That’s great, Star. They’re lucky to have you.” Star grins, but her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Marco leans into her space just a bit, places a hand on her shoulder. He knows that this is one of the few topics that Star gets very sensitive about. “Hey. It’s true. And, if this is what you want to do, like, professionally, then your parents are going to have to deal. Your mom is going to have to get over it. Not everyone in life is cut out to be a business mogul.”

Star purses her lips, her brows are furrowed, she looks put out. She reaches up to push a stray lock of hair behind her ear, then brings her hands together, wringing them a bit in her lap. She shrugs a little, and her eyes are downcast when she speaks.

“It just seems…really hard, Marco. I mean, I feel like such a spoiled brat already. I don’t have to worry about my finances at all. I don’t have to work my way through school, I don’t have to take out any loans. They’re paying for everything. And, my family has been in the real estate industry for, like, generations. My mom, my grandma, her mom, her grandma, all of them. We’ve gotten where we are because everyone kept it going, and here I am wanting to become an elementary school teacher. It’s not like teachers are making six-figure salaries, you know?”

“I know that, Star. It’s what you want to do though, and it seems like you’d be really good at it.”

Star shrugs again, and Marco can tell that she doesn’t really want to talk about it anymore for the time being so he drops it. Star’s head lulls back and forth from right to left where she’s still slumped in her chair, then she sits up and rests her arms on the table, and her face in her hands, her face is kind of impassive when she asks, “So. I caught you up. Pony Head said there’s probably something you’d want to talk to me about?”

Oh, right.

Marco chuckles nervously, scratched the back of his neck as he speaks, “Um. Yeah. Um.” He clears his throat and tries again. “Well, see the thing is that the other night at the party. Um. I um. I maybe kind of sort of made out with Tom?” He can’t look her in the eye as he finishes.

His pulse is thundering in his ears at the admission, his face feels like someone has taken a match to it. He worries suddenly, despite all of Pony Head’s reassurances, that Star might be angry at him.

His fears dissipate when he looks back to Star and sees her shit-eating grin. Somehow, he can feel it in the air before she breaks out in song.

“MARCO AND THOMAS SITTING IN A TREE K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

“Star!”

“First comes love!”

“Star!”

“Then comes marriage!”

“Star!”

“Then comes a peacock because you don’t know if you want to have children!”

“What the fuck, Star.”

Star appears momentarily revitalized by this new information, and Marco is reminded that his friends live, absolutely _live_ for any kind of interpersonal drama, romantic or otherwise. He can’t even be mad, because he loves chisme as much as they do.

“Soooo are you two talking?” Star asks, batting her eyelashes exaggeratedly.

“Kind of? I avoided him for a while, because I was embarrassed, but then we bumped into each other, and I told him I had fun, and he told me he had fun and that we should have fun together again sometime.”

“Oh ho-ho-ho?” Star is practically sitting on the edge of her seat now, she looks entirely too pleased with herself.

“You don’t mind? Like at all? He is your ex-boyfriend.”

“Marco, we dated like for eleven seconds ten years ago. I’m fine with it! More than fine with it! I have been trying to get him to make a move on you for months!” She shakes Marco’s shoulders as she says all of this, and pauses to look him straight in the eye before continuing. “He really likes you, Marco!”

“Huh?”

Marco feels as though the world has tilted on it’s axis. Which way is up? Which way is north? What’s North West up to? He needs to catch up with the Kardashians. Wait. What? What? Tom likes him? Tom likes _him_? Tom _likes_ him? _What the hell_?

He stares at Star like she’s crazy, which she is, but she’s probably extra crazy right now in particular because this is nonsense. Once Marco has gathered enough brain cells to process the information he becomes even more confused.

“He likes me? Like as a person? Like romantically? Are you sure he isn’t just trying to get into my pants?” He’s nothing if not a skeptic.

“I think anyone who watches you two interact could tell as much, to be honest.”

“If you knew this why didn’t you say anything?!”

“It wasn’t my place, Marco! You’re really dense when it comes to these things. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, I figured you’d have to figure it out on your own first.”

Marco rakes his hand through his hair, struggling to find the words to express his thoughts, “I don’t really know how to feel about this. I mean, Tom’s really cool, and attractive, but I don’t know him that well, and I guess I was kind of going off of my bad first impression of him. I really had no clue. I thought that maybe I was imagining things.”

“Have you two talked at all since you bumped into each other?”

Just as Star asks his phone vibrates once, twice, three times. They look at each other, and Star starts smacking his arm and torso while pleading with Marco to check his phone. He unlocks it to see three new messages. They’re from Tom.

_‘hey marco’_

_‘I bet you’re probably busy’_

_‘but do you want to get coffee?’_

Well, fuck.


End file.
